Poems can be a doorway into another world. Each one, a simple arrangement of otherwise ordinary words, that together evoke presence, wonder, possibility. So here is an invitation to pause, let the words wash over you and glimpse the world they offer you…
It’s a growing collection, and we’d love to hear which ones resonate with you and why, and find out about your favourites. Here is an index of our Words of Wonder.
Everything is beautiful and I am so sad. This is how the heart makes a duet of wonder and grief. The light spraying through the lace of the fern is as delicate as the fibers of memory forming their web around the knot in my throat. The breeze makes the birds move from branch to…
And if it’s true we are alone, we are alone together, the way blades of grass are alone, but exist as a field. Sometimes I feel it, the green fuse that ignites us, the wild thrum that unites us, an inner hum that reminds us of our shared humanity. Just as thirty-five trillion red blood…
Now, In this time of times perhaps we have such need again, for a poultice placed gently and with kindness upon the rounded body of the earth where too long our self-sickness has burrowed deep within and brought the breaking and the burning of fever dream, of pain and sorrow become now a crown of…
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep. People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don’t go back to sleep. by Rumi, translated/interpreted…
My friends, let’s grow up. Let’s stop pretending we don’t know the deal here. Or if we truly haven’t noticed, let’s wake up and notice. Look: Everything that can be lost, will be lost. It’s simple — how could we have missed it for so long? Let’s grieve our losses fully, like ripe human beings,…
Beneath the masks, beneath the names, beneath ideals, beneath the shoulds is a thrumming, ecstatic atomic swirl, unseen and omnipresent, inescapable and holy—a divine blurring of being, a realm of charge and energy— most of it empty space. Sometimes, I remember this. Perhaps walking in the woods or standing in the midst of a city’s…
PART ONE, SONNET IV You who let yourselves feel: enter the breathing that is more than your own. Let it brush your cheeks as it divides and rejoins behind you. Blessed ones, whole ones, you where the heart begins: You are the bow that shoots the arrows and you are the target. Fear not the…
From breath to breath from dusk to dusk let there be rainfall when the soil is parched as rock let there be sunshine when the barley bends to be cut let there be rainbows when the days are short of light let there be wind when our boats are turned for home. by Jane Clarke…
What we see is not the most important. Could dust rise without the invisible hand of the wind? Could a fan turn without any current? Could lungs breathe without breath? Tell me What is the shape of Love? How much does Joy weigh when hold in the palm of your hand? Can you catch the…
That’s it. Walk, don’t run. Slow down, breathe deeply, and open your eyes because there’s a whole world right here within this one. The bush doesn’t suddenly catch on fire, it’s been burning the whole time. Moses is simply moving slowly enough to see it. And when he does, he takes off his sandals. Not…
How admirable – a man who sees lightening and not satori by Matsuo Bashō In this very short poem, we are given a piece of pith wisdom for our practice. As I understand it, it is saying – watch out for when you lose the freshness because you’ve married yourself to limiting concepts! (Satori…
This morning as my eyes blink open it occurs to me as if for the first time what you, miracle body, have been up to All night long, while I let go you pumped blood through veins to fingertips and toes grew cells and eyelashes and nails inhaled and exhaled countless times all this while…
I have a feeling that my boat has struck, down there in the depths, against a great thing. And nothing happens! Nothing… Silence… Waves… —Nothing happens? Or has everything happened, and are we standing now, quietly, in the new life? by Juan Ramon Jimenez Here’s a poem which, for me, exemplifies what I see…
I was alone on a sunny shore by the forest’s pale blue lake, in the sky floated a single cloud and on the water a single isle. The ripe sweetness of summer dripped in beads from every tree and straight into my opened heart a tiny drop ran down. by Edith Södergran, translated from Swedish…
Listen, O brothers and sisters, If you recognise me, Queen of the Lake of Awareness, who encompasses both emptiness and form, know that I live in the minds of all beings who live. Know that I live in the body of mind and the field of the senses, that matter is only my bones and…
Whether or not you know that you are beautiful, the flowers gaze at you whenever you walk by. When your heart feels like stone and you’ve lost sight of the gifts being given, you are still held by the earth beneath you and kissed by the breath of the trees. When you’ve convinced yourself that…
Go inside a stone That would be my way. Let somebody else become a dove Or gnash with a tiger’s tooth. I am happy to be a stone. From the outside the stone is a riddle: No one knows how to answer it. Yet within, it must be cool and quiet Even though a cow…
I’ve lost: Three hours of work on the last chapter Friends I thought I had for life The golden cross pendant my godmother gave me Faith in God Frequently, my equanimity I almost lost: The way out of the woods My passport and smartphone at the Dutch tulip show My virginity before I was ready…
It was spring and finally I heard him among the first leaves – then I saw him clutching the limb in an island of shade with his red-brown feathers all trim and neat for the new year. First, I stood still and thought of nothing. Then I began to listen. Then I was filled with…
We look with uncertainty beyond the old choices for clear-cut answers to a softer, more permeable aliveness which is every moment at the brink of death; for something new is being born in us if we but let it. We stand at a new doorway, awaiting that which comes… daring to be human creatures, vulnerable…
And the Great Mother said: Come my child and give me all that you are. I am not afraid of your strength and darkness, of your fear and pain. Give me your tears. They will be my rushing rivers and roaring oceans. Give me your rage. It will erupt into my molten volcanoes and rolling…
The optometrist says my eyes are getting better each year. Soon he’ll have to lower my prescription. What’s next? The light step I had at six? All the gray hairs back to brown? Skin taut as a drum? My improved eyes and I walked around town and celebrated. We took in the letters of the…
When I consider how in this world all is falling blossom – what then must become of this self? This world – strung jewels of dew on the frail thread a spider spins by Saigyō, translated by Meredith McKinney I find these poems so incredibly potent. In a few words the…
She who reconciles the ill-matched threads of her life, and weaves them gratefully into a single cloth— it’s she who drives the loudmouths from the hall and clears it for a different celebration where the one guest is you. In the softness of evening it’s you she receives. You are the partner of her loneliness,…
May all that is unforgiven in you, Be released. May your fears yield Their deepest tranquilities. May all that is unlived in you, Blossom into a future, Graced with love. by John O’Donohue The “former Catholic priest turned visionary bestselling author” John O’Donohue has a way of capturing heartfelt well-wishes in a way that…
1. Understand, I am always trying to figure out what the soul is, and where hidden, and what shape — and so, last week, when I found on the beach the ear bone of a pilot whale that may have died hundreds of years ago, I thought maybe I was close to discovering something —…
What makes a fire burn is space between the logs, a breathing space. Too much of a good thing, too many logs packed in too tight can douse the flames almost as surely as a pail of water would. So building fires requires attention to the spaces in between, as much as to the wood.…
I want to be like the maples, letting go so easily of their leaves in the slightest autumn breeze, surrendering every piece of themselves they no longer need, and embracing bareness like a new suit they can simply step into. But I’m more like the beech trees, which cling to the husks of their leaves…
Down near the bottom of the crossed-out list of things you have to do today, between “green thread” and “broccoli” you find that you have penciled “sunlight.” Resting on the page, the word is as beautiful, it touches you as if you had a friend and sunlight were a present he had sent you from…
Once, I ran from fear so fear controlled me. Until I learned to hold fear like a newborn. Listen to it, but not give in. Honor it, but not worship it. Fear could not stop me anymore. I walked with courage into the storm. I still have fear, but it does not have me. Once,…